


speechless.

by ahausonfire (thisiswherethefishlives)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (Thanks Beyoncé), Anxiety, Beyoncé Sets The Mood, Established Relationship, Explicitly Described Feels, Light Angst, M/M, Vaguely Implied Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/ahausonfire
Summary: It’s not often that he gets to do this.It’s just… it’s unlikely, most days, for him to be the one at home waiting. What with practice and roadies and PR, it’s just. More often than not, Jack’s the one coming home to Eric. And he loves it.He does.





	speechless.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panya/gifts).



> Here's my (belated - sorry!!) gift to panya, who asked for sweet and sultry zimbits inspired by Beyoncé's "Speechless". I'm hoping that this hits all the right notes. <3

It’s not often that he gets to do this.

It’s just… it’s unlikely, most days, for him to be the one at home waiting. What with practice and roadies and PR, it’s just. More often than not, Jack’s the one coming home to Eric. And he loves it. 

He does.

Eric’s fingers carding through his hair, a greeting he feels down to his toes; Eric’s lips pressed to Jack’s throat - his cheek - his lips; music playing soft and candles burning low, and if Jack hadn’t known before, he’d know that this was love. 

He’d open the door and know.

Every time. 

It’s part of why tonight feels so important - so vital - and really, Jack knows that it’s verging on foolish to feel so coltish and new over something as simple as being the one at home that’s opening the door, but--

The idea of opening the door for Eric, of helping him with his jacket, of pushing him back against the door; the emotion behind it all, the importance of each gesture, of the intent behind it all… it’s vital. It’s so, so vital that Jack get this right. That Eric comes home - to _their_ home - and that he knows how loved he is. How perfect. How necessary.

It’s the work of a moment to check the oven timer, then the clock above the stove, and it’s such a foolish thing to try to recreate everything for Eric. Jack’s no baker, and he’s never been particularly good with honest, easy gestures, but it’s _important_ that Eric knows what he brings to Jack’s life. And maybe that means trying his hand at the mini pies they had made for class. Maybe it means Eric’s favorite songs playing soft and low throughout the apartment. And it’s possible that it means that Jack’s wearing Eric’s favorite shirt - the blue chambray that brings out his eyes.

For anyone else it might feel like an empty gesture - phoning in a moment by replicating someone else’s magic. 

The thing that Jack keeps reminding himself is that Eric isn’t anyone else. He’s _Eric_. He’s the most important person in Jack’s life, the brightest light that he’s allowed himself in years, and he holds Jack’s heart in the gentlest of grips… and he doesn’t let go, even when he should. Even when Jack’s thought he would.

Which… it’s all different pieces of the same puzzle. Different details in the same picture. 

It’s all part and parcel to the love that Jack has for him.

To the feeling of home that Jack is determined to give.

He can hear Eric’s key turning in the lock just as the oven timer goes off, a sharp ding to contrast the quiet shuffling at the door, and this isn’t how Jack had planned for the evening to go. He’d done his best to plan everything out perfectly so that he’d be at the door, welcoming Eric with open arms and sweet kisses. The pies should have been out, and it’s enough to have Jack’s anxiety itching to spin out, but then Eric’s closing the door behind him, his eyes wide and his mouth pursed in confusion just long enough to realize what’s been going on - to realize what he’s caught Jack at red-handed. He only needs a moment to catch up before he’s sweeping into the kitchen, pulling oven mitts out of what seems like thin air before taking the mini pies out and setting them on the counter. 

It should be a silver lining that the pies didn’t burn, but all Jack can focus on is how his plan failed. Because this wasn’t supposed to be about Eric having to clean up after him. It was-

It was a gesture, and Jack’s never been the best at them, but this was something he had been sure about. Or, as sure as he _can_ be about something that isn’t Eric. 

“Sweetpea,” Eric breathes, a little breathless, as he takes in the scene. “Did you do all this?” He looks so beautiful, all soft eyes and hopeful lips, and Jack wants to give him everything.

He wants to be smooth, and romantic, and everything that Eric could ever want, but when he goes to answer, the only thing that comes out is, “I-- euh. Haha.”

Words fail, and Jack. He wants to sink into the floor, wants to blow away out the window, wants to do a million different tricks to get away - to reset today into something salvageable - but he doesn’t have that kind of magic. The only thing he’s ever had was an understanding with the ice under his skates and something to prove.

And Eric. 

He’s had _Eric_. Beautiful, talented, wonderful Eric who can see the words fail before his eyes. Eric, who can put two and two together faster than anyone else as long as it’s not in French. 

_Eric_ , who takes a moment to asses the space; the music, the candles, the pies… the _shirt_. 

He takes everything in, and just like that his eyes go from assessing to tender, and Jack doesn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve any of this… not unless he tries. 

“I wanted to show you,” he says, the words fighting him with every syllable. He’s never been good with words, but in this moment, they’ve left him entirely. Eric looks up at him, eager and patient and wonderful, and Jack’s speechless. 

He’s _speechless_ , so he does the only thing he can, stepping close enough to pull Eric to him with careful hands. It’s a question more than anything, and the way that Eric allows himself to be pulled close is an answer in itself. The way that his hands - strong, calloused hands - come to rest on Jack’s shoulders as he angles up for a kiss… it’s all an answer that leaves Jack unmoored.

Eric’s lips are soft against Jack’s, pliant and responsive in equal measure, and Jack loves him.

He _loves_ him, and in this moment - this perfectly imperfect moment - Jack knows down to his core that Eric loves him back.

“ _Bits_ ,” he breathes, hot against Eric’s lips, and he knows that it’s enough. For now, it’s enough. Eric’s lips part on a sigh as his eyes close, and Jack will never be done with him. 

“God, Bits. _God_.” He presses the words to the curve of Eric’s neck and the shell of his ear and the slope of his shoulder and Jack is in love. 

“Sweetheart, I-” whatever Eric’s about to say gets lost in Jack’s skin as he leans into Jack’s arms. He’s all sweet kisses and sharp nips, and he’s _everything_. He’s so much of what Jack’s learned that he needs, and it’s easy to let Eric’s hands push at his shirt, to pluck at the buttons on Eric’s polo in turn until he’s able to pull it over his head. It’s easy to press himself close to Eric’s warmth, to allow the tension between them to spool in his gut into something molten and frenetic and raw.

It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve done this - how many times Jack’s given himself over to Eric - how many times they’ve fallen apart… it’s still a revelation. An adventure. An exercise in giving and receiving that Jack never wants to end. Because it’s easy to be selfish with Eric - easier still to be selfless - and that’s something that Jack hadn’t expected. 

He hadn’t anticipated that love would be easy.

For all the hiding and the subterfuge and the strings that have come with being together, he still can’t shake the idea that it’s easy. 

Eric’s fingers trace along Jack’s spine, each movement lighting him up like a Christmas tree, stoking the desire that’s been steadily growing. Beyoncé croons in the background, and for perhaps the first time, Jack understands Eric’s obsession. 

Because, who needs words when they’re supplied so freely?

Who needs words when Eric’s skin is so soft beneath Jack’s fingers and lips and breath?

When he sighs so sweetly?

When Jack is so completely Eric’s?

Eric’s lips find his again, parting easy as anything, and Jack wants to feel this way always. 

He presses his adoration to Eric’s chest - to his ribs - to the soft skin below his belly button. His fingers are fluent as he traces the seam of Eric’s pants, skipping over the stitching gently before working the button free, brushing a thousand endearments through the pads of his fingers before working the zipper down. 

And this- _this_ is what Jack had wanted. Because Eric looks up at him, all rosy and glowing and _god_ , Jack has never wanted anyone the way that he wants Eric. He’s never known home to be another person before, and he’s not sure that he’ll ever know it again outside of Eric’s embrace. 

From the look in Eric’s eyes - tender and heated and beautiful, beautiful, _beautiful_ \- Jack knows that he’s not alone in this. 

With tender care, he works Eric’s jeans over every curve and bend and angle until he’s bare before him, and it’s so much.

It’s everything.

Graceless, Jack falls to his knees, a thousand different unsaid prayers spilling from his lips with every kiss and every gentled bite and every shivery slide of his tongue against Eric’s skin, and just like that the words find him again.

The words find him here, crouched before the love of his life, and even though Jack knows that they’re on the same page, the words beg to be said.

So he says them, with reverence and adoration and intent.

He says them with his words and his fingers and his lips.

“Welcome home,” he says, as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever said - and in the moment, it is.

“ _Welcome home_ ,” he says.

And Eric smiles.


End file.
